


free the beast from its cage (free the rage like an animal)

by hellstrider



Series: Into You [5]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blood and Injury, In which Geralt is still a Witcher and Jaskier is basically Ariana Grande, M/M, Siren!Jaskier, Witcher!Geralt, getting caught, reupload, slight blood kink, slight exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:06:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22822246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellstrider/pseuds/hellstrider
Summary: “Geralt, oh, myGod, ohmyGod - is that -  is that abullet hole?Is that a -mmhmph -”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Into You [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596667
Comments: 10
Kudos: 427





	free the beast from its cage (free the rage like an animal)

**Author's Note:**

> another reupload.
> 
> title from move your body by sia
> 
> tumblr: thebardjaskier

_“Geralt,_ oh, my _God,_ oh _my God_ \- is _that_ \- is that a _bullet hole_? Is that a - _mmhmph -”_

And, _really,_

All Jaskier can _do_ when Geralt seals their mouths together is hold on for _dear fucking life,_

Because the Witcher’s _vibrating_ with energy,

Reeks of _sweat_ and _blood_ ,

And Jaskier slides a hand over his bicep and - _yep,_ that’s _absolutely_ a bullet hole in Geralt’s sleeve, and Jaskier’s fingers come away _crimson_ as Geralt drops his swords in favor of hauling his Siren _right_ off his feet, and Jaskier's fingers are dripping _blood_ when he curls them into Geralt's ripped collar, 

“Told you to _stay with security,”_ Geralt growls, and they’re in the middle of one of the hallways in the Royal Albert Hall, at some _awards show_ Jaskier was supposed to be performing at, an awards show some _talentless_ fucking _sea_ - _witch_ with a fucking _grudge_ decided to _crash_ ,

All to get to _Jaskier,_

And the hallway around them is _strewn with_ \- with _bodies,_ with bodies of _mercenaries_ and _witches_ , and Geralt’s _thrumming_ with energy as he hauls Jaskier off his feet, as he sweeps Jaskier away from the _ruin_ that’s rendered this hallway pretty much _unusable_ for the _rest of time,_

“Yeah, that - _oh_ , fuck - lasted about _ten seconds_ ,” Jaskier pants as Geralt walks them across the corridor, bloodied and _reeking_ of _revenge_ , “there were - _hunters_ , there were - Geralt, you’re bleeding, _can you just -”_

But,

 _“No_ ,” Geralt burrs, _right_ against the side of Jaskier’s throat, _and now_ \- now they’re in some fucking _office,_ and Geralt’s _thrumming_ with energy that isn’t burning itself out but is _working itself up_ , and Jaskier’s _stupidly_ hard in his _tight_ Armani pants as Geralt slams the office door shut by _shoving_ Jaskier back against it, _and,_

“Okay, _not that I_ \- oh, _fuck_ , Geralt, _darling_ -” and,

“Not that I don’t _love_ the -” and,

 _“The_ \- oh, _right there,_ just -”

And Geralt burrs with a pleased edge utter _self-satisfaction_ as he slides his hands up under Jaskier’s sheer shirt, as he thumbs over a pierced nipple, as he sucks a bruise on the side of the Siren’s throat, drags his teeth over the raw skin, 

And the Witcher reeks of _blood_ and _sweat_ , has a - a _bullet_ in one arm, a bullet Jaskier’s not sure he can _feel,_ because his eyes are still doing that _thing_ they do, where they’re red-rimmed and _hazy_ in the aftermath of using an elixir mid-battle, 

And he’s thrumming with _adrenaline_ , adrenaline Jaskier can _taste_ when Geralt kisses him, all _wet heat_ and _desperate_ , demanding tongue, and Geralt tastes like mint and _copper_ and something vaguely like _cinnamon,_

“You never fucking _listen_ ,” Geralt murmurs, bloodied hand splaying possessively over the front of Jaskier’s throat, “they were here for _you_ , Jaskier,”

“Yes, _well_ ,” Jaskier manages, as Geralt shoves a _huge_ thigh between his own, “I’m here for _you,_ so, _now what?”_

“You can’t even _hold_ a sword,”

“I _can!_ I absolutely - oh, _Jesus -_ Geralt, if you don’t get me out of these pants in _half a second -”_

And who’s horribly dapper, ridiculously _fancy_ office this is, Jaskier doesn’t _know,_

_But,_

He really can’t be arsed to _give a fuck,_

Not when Geralt pins him down on the sleek, black leather sofa across from the door,

Leaves streaks of blood over the smooth fabric,

Just as he leaves streaks of blood over Jaskier’s chest, his belly, his neck,

And Geralt _tastes_ like it, when he fucks into Jaskier’s mouth with his tongue,

And he _smells_ like it, 

As it _drips_ from the wound in his arm, the wound _with the_ \- the _bullet_ in it,

As it _oozes_ from a shallow gash on his stomach that Jaskier splays his hand over as _soon_ as he gets Geralt's shirt open,

Splays his hand over as a _vicious_ surge of protective _anger_ rushes up his spine, and Geralt _burrs_ as Jaskier presses his palm to the warmth of the open wound, as he curls a hand around Jaskier's nape and kisses the faint, "oh, _darling_ ," Jaskier utters off his lips, 

_And_ ,

He’s -

_Look,_

He’s been getting Geralt’s blood _all over him_ for a _while_ now,

_And it’s -_

It’s _far_ from a _deterrent,_

Especially when Geralt strips Jaskier out of his ridiculously expensive clothes with enough force he _rips_ them, a bit,

Especially when Geralt _barely_ manages to shrug out of his black shirt, has to be coaxed by Jaskier's soft pleas and greedy hands into getting far enough away to divest himself of the ruined fabric,

But there's no fucking way he's gonna be able to get Geralt off of him for long enough to get the Witcher out of his steel-toed boots, his _tight_ black pants, so Jaskier tugs at his belt as Geralt mouths down his throat, as his hips strain between Jaskier's legs, pops the button on his slacks _and_ -

"Why do you even _own_ underwear if you never use it?" Jaskier murmurs against Geralt's ear as he slips a hand into Geralt's trousers and cups his cock with a needy hand, revels in the way Geralt ruts into his palm and drags his teeth over the hinge of Jaskier's jaw,

"Used to," Geralt murmurs absently, and it gets Jaskier _so_ fucking wet, the way the Witcher gets so fucking _lost_ when they're like this, get so absorbed in Jaskier it's like he's existing in an _entirely_ new way - and maybe he _is_ , because then; "before _you_ ," and,

" _Fuck_ ," Jaskier groans as Geralt noses up under his ear, as he grinds down into Jaskier's hand, muscle _rippling_ with that trapped, thrumming, _deadly_ energy, the energy Jaskier wants him burying _right_ between his legs, the energy he's dying to _feel_ , 

So Jaskier fumbles for the fancy-ass lotion on the table just over his head as that _fierce_ , savage _heat_ starts to unfurl down his arching spine, and he laughs breathlessly when Geralt gets _impatient_ and surges for it instead,

And Jaskier catches the wolf medallion dangling from the Witcher’s neck briefly between his teeth - _briefly,_ because then Geralt’s sinking back down with the lotion in hand and the Witcher takes it from Jaskier with his _own fucking teeth_ only to capture the Siren's lips with a growl as Jaskier _grins_ , and they're bloody and Geralt's got a fucking _bullet_ in one arm but he's kissing Jaskier with his eyes _open_ , is licking _languid_ and _unhurried_ into Jaskier's mouth as sunlit gold holds _so_ tight to sky-blue, 

As;

 _“Geralt,_ ” Jaskier breathes, letting the _sea_ come over his tongue, and the Siren tangles bloodied fingers through Geralt’s hair as he spreads his thighs, as he slides his knees slow and easy up along Geralt’s _heaving_ sides, and Jaskier rolls his hips until their cocks slide together, until even _he_ can pick up on the scent of them both, and Geralt's nostrils flare as he drags his lips over Jaskier's cheekbone, as he utters a _guttural_ , thick-throated,

_“Fuck,”_

And,

_Well,_

“That’s the _idea,_ my wolf,” the Siren murmurs, hand sliding over the shallow wound on Geralt’s stomach as Geralt’s slick fingers find Jaskier’s tight entrance; “oh, _fuck,_ baby, you feel so good, _fuck -_ ”

“If you'd shown up five minutes sooner,” Geralt growls against Jaskier’s ear, “and you would've given them _everything_ they came for,”

_Which -_

Perhaps laughing isn’t the _best_ reaction, but, 

He _does,_

_Laughs,_

As Geralt sinks two fingers into him, _right_ down to the last knuckle,

Laughs until he’s _moaning_ , clutching at Geralt’s shoulders when the Witcher zeroes in on his prostate like it’s _goddamn true north,_

“Find it _funny_ , do you?”

 _“Yeah_ ,” Jaskier says breathlessly as Geralt drags his teeth over the side of his throat, “because there’s _no fucking way_ you would’ve let that happen,”

_“Jaskier,”_

_“Fuck,_ say it again, say my name, baby,” 

But all Geralt does is burr _deep_ in his chest, which, _really,_ has the _same goddamn effect_ , has Jaskier’s dick _aching_ and jumping against his belly, has it _bleeding_ pre from the savagely pink head, and though Geralt's _thrumming_ with energy, has _violence_ cupped in his tongue when he kisses Jaskier until Jaskier's jaw is sore, he touches the Siren like he's something fucking _holy_ , works two fingers in him _so_ agonizingly slow, so _gentle_ it's a little _maddening_ ,

Because Jaskier _knows_ what Geralt _really_ needs, what he _wants_ , what Jaskier will have to _coax_ him into taking, _so_ ,

“That’s _enough_ , baby,” Jaskier pants, heels digging into Geralt’s thighs, and Geralt’s _barely_ worked him open, but - “want to _feel you,_ c’mon, please, know you love how _tight_ I am, _just_ -”

And Geralt slides _taunting_ lips over Jaskier’s, frames his jaw with a huge, ruby-stained hand as the other goes to slick up his cock, and Jaskier grips Geralt’s forearm, gazes up at his red-rimmed, _golden_ eyes, 

Doesn’t fucking hear _shit_ except for the soft cadence of Geralt's gusting breaths against his lips, except for the _thunder_ of his own _needing_ heartbeat, 

And Jaskier doesn't hear _shit_ , but - 

Geralt must not _either_ , 

Because he tends to get _lost_ in Jaskier when he's like this, when he's _desperate_ , when he _thrums_ with the energy _only_ _Jaskier_ can coax out of him,

And he starts to sink into the heat of Jaskier’s _tight_ , barely-worked body with an _avalanche_ of a groan, a thing that gets Jaskier _whining_ and _keening_ , has him breathing _hard_ and _quick_ against Geralt's cheekbone as he clutches at Geralt and goes totally _pliant_ beneath him,

And it’s proof of how fucking _gone_ Geralt is when he _doesn’t fucking hear them coming,_

Proof of how absolutely _sunken_ Jaskier is in the atmosphere of the Witcher when he doesn’t _notice_ it,

Doesn't notice the clatter of footsteps,

The clamor of _frantic_ , panicked voices,

_And,_

The door _bursts_ open,

And Jaskier _yelps_ when Geralt immediately ducks over him, when the Witcher shoves Jaskier back against the sofa, putting the bulk of his torso between the Siren and -

_“Jesus!”_

“Are they - _oh my God!”_

“Geralt, _honestly,”_

And Jaskier’s ears _burn_ when he hears Yennefer’s exasperated voice,

When he hears Pricilla’s high, _shocked_ gasp, 

And Geralt’s still buried _balls-fucking-deep_ in him, so it’s _lucky,_ really, that Geralt is so fucking _massive_ \- his _body_ , for fuck’s sake, _c’mon_ \- because he’s blocking Jaskier almost _entirely_ from view,

( _Though, truly, the, uh - the_ other thing _is nothing to scoff at, if Jaskier’s being honest,_ )

And Jaskier’s face _burns_ as he shoves it into the crook of Geralt’s throat, as he clutches at the Witcher and wishes he could, _just_ , sink through the sofa and _disappear_ ,

As Pricilla demands, _weakly_ , “is that a _bullet hole?”_

But,

“Either you _get out_ ,” Geralt says, and he sounds about as _deadly_ as Jaskier would _expect_ him to, after getting _shot_ and then _caught_ sunk balls deep in Jaskier; “or I have to get up and _make you_ leave, and I can _promise_ you -”

 _“Yes,_ alright,” Yennefer says, voice all mangled with laughter, “ _out_ , they’re fine, move - Triss, for the love of _fuck_ , put the phone _away_ ,”

And the door swings shut with a clatter, 

And Geralt is, _somehow_ , still _just_ as hard as he was when he slammed Jaskier against said door, while _Jaskier_ is -

 _“Huh,_ ” he mutters, because his dick is still _stupidly hard,_ too, and it might have _everything_ to do with the fact that he can feel Geralt in his fucking _throat_ ,

“I expected you to keep _going_ , honestly,” Jaskier says, words followed promptly by a ragged, “ _oh_ , God, _oh_ fuck -” as Geralt shoves his thighs back and starts to fuck into him with _single-minded focus,_

“I would’ve,” Geralt murmurs, dangerous and low, which has Jaskier’s stupid dick _throbbing_ , “they had another ten seconds,”

 _“That’s_ \- there’s so - _much_ there to - _oh fuck, oh fuck_ ,”

And Geralt burrs, _pride_ lacing through the sound as he all but bends Jaskier in _half_ and swallows down the _aching_ groan Jaskier lets out when the Witcher’s cock slides over the bundle of nerves inside him that makes him see _stars_ , 

And they’re glistening with sweat now and Geralt smells like the bullet in his arm and the blood dripping down his bicep, like the blood that oozes from his belly, but Jaskier’s had Geralt’s blood on his hands before, and it’s far from a _deterrent_ ,

 _Especially_ when Geralt cups his jaw and kisses him with _such_ a devoted _sweetness_ it’s got Jaskier’s stomach turning on its head,

 _Especially_ when Geralt noses over his cheekbone and breathes, “no one fucking _touches_ you,” and,

It’s far from a _deterrent_ ,

When Geralt gathers Jaskier up in his arms,

When he sits back on the sofa like it's a goddamn throne, hands sliding down to grip Jaskier’s hips,

And Jaskier steals the soft _moans_ and _growling_ gasps that roll from the Witcher with a _greedy_ tongue as Geralt _keeps him moving_ , as Geralt fucks up into the _tight_ clutch of his body,

And it’s all Jaskier can _do,_

Is hold on for _dear fucking life,_

As Geralt bites his claim down the side of his throat until Jaskier's skin is burning with it,

As Geralt coaxes pleasure through Jaskier with each languid, _practiced_ roll of his hips,

As Geralt curls a bloodied hand around Jaskier’s _aching_ dick and swallows down the gut-punched _cry_ Jaskier lets out with a tongue that inspires a few more,

And,

“Need to _taste you_ ,” Geralt all but moans against Jaskier’s jaw, “ _nothing_ like the way you taste, that’s it, _I’ve got you,_ I’ve got you -”

Which,

Just,

Has _such_ an effect,

Because then Jaskier’s spine _bends_ and he cums with an _agonized_ keen, one he buries _right_ against Geralt’s throat, one that makes his own _ache_ with the _force_ of it, with the way it _rips_ out of him as if by some spell,

And he tastes the _sea_ come along with it,

And Geralt curses as Jaskier cums all over his _stomach_ , over his glittering chest, 

_Curses,_

Utters a _tight,_ growling, “ _Jaskier,_ ” and,

Now,

_See,_

Geralt’s blood is _far_ from a deterrent,

So Jaskier ducks down,

Laves his tongue through his own spunk as his head fucking _spins,_

Gets a little _blood_ with it, too,

But it’s far from a _deterrent,_

Especially when Geralt _groans_ like he’s been - well, _shot_ \- when Jaskier unfurls his tongue and _feeds_ the Witcher the pearly white spunk he’s licked from his clenching stomach, the swell of his damp chest,

As he drops his _own fucking cum_ over Geralt’s tongue, _and_ ,

“So fucking _greedy,_ ” Jaskier pants against Geralt’s temple, and the way the Witcher fucks into him now is the kind of thing he’ll be feeling for _days,_ “bet you _love_ the fact that they saw us like that, didn’t you? _Loved_ that they saw me being _entirely yours,_ ”

“You _are_ ,” Geralt breathes, possessive hand curling around Jaskier’s nape, arm braced against his spine, “you _know_ you are,” 

Which is why Jaskier ran off from security in the _first place,_

Why he felt absolutely _no_ fear for his _own_ safety,

Just for Geralt’s, _and,_

His chest _aches_ as he covers the bullet wound in Geralt’s arm, the one he’ll scold him about _extensively_ ,

But for _now,_

For now;

The Siren drags his lips over Geralt’s temple,

And breathes, _right_ in his ear, “of course I am, _daddy,_ ” and,

Geralt moans out a thick, grating, " _fuck_ ,"

As his hips _snap_ ,

And Jaskier _feels_ it when his Witcher buries himself _so fucking deep_ inside the clutch of his body,

 _Feels it_ when Geralt leaves proof of his gentle possession between his thighs, and,

 _“Fuck,_ baby,” Jaskier groans faintly, head falling to Geralt’s shoulder, and he’s starting to get all _sex-limp,_ feels _beyond_ completely _fucked-out_ as the fading adrenaline and the afterglow clash together in a perfect cocktail of _nighty-night,_

“Alright?” Geralt rasps, _sounding_ \- yeah, about as _good_ as a guy who got _sliced_ and _shot_ should sound, 

_“Alright,_ he asks,” Jaskier mutters, tipping back to take Geralt’s face between his hands, and Geralt’s golden eyes are entirely _clear_ , now, but he still gazes at Jaskier like he's salvation, “you were _shot_. I’m _fine_. You have a _bullet_ in your arm, Witcher. It needs to be _tended to."_

“Mm,” and Geralt leans in to nuzzle over Jaskier’s lips until their tongues slide together and Jaskier’s _just_ this side of breathless again; “was more important to have _you_ in my arms first,”

“Don’t think that’ll stop the _lecture_ that’s coming, Shakespeare,”

“I was fighting for _you,_ if you recall,”

“Mhm.” Jaskier thumbs over Geralt’s cheek as the Witcher’s golden eyes scrape greedily over his face, huge arms circling his waist, “but I _still_ get to lecture you about proper procedure in the aftermath of being shot, Geralt of Rivia,”

“So I _shouldn’t_ have fucked you in this office,”

“I didn’t say that,”

“We should’ve come _back_ to fuck in the office,” Geralt says, brows arching, voice dripping in bone-dry sarcasm, “ _after_ I got the bullet removed,”

“I don’t like _this_ , this _thing_ you’re doing,”

“Using logic?”

“What was logical about - _no,_ you know what, never mind, _would you just_ -”

“Mhm,”

And Geralt’s mouth melts against Jaskier’s as he slides a possessive hand down the bend of his spine, as he gathers Jaskier _close_ , impossibly close, 

“That’s not what I _meant,_ ” Jaskier murmurs against his lips, but Geralt’s starting to get _hard_ again where he’s still buried in the cum-soaked clutch of the Siren’s body, and no one’s come to _kick them out,_ yet,

So,

_Really,_

It’s _all he can do_ , when Geralt kisses him like he’s _starved_ for it, 

Is hold on for _dear fucking life,_


End file.
